


Not all those who wander are lost

by voculae (northernMagic)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Allegory, Astronomy, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Protectiveness, Sappy, Schmoop, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 13:19:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4021330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernMagic/pseuds/voculae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q is fond of orchestrating grand allegories for his armament meetings with Bond. The night before the next assignment, their newfound intimacy makes his rhetoric a little more transparent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not all those who wander are lost

**Author's Note:**

> With new cover art by [Linorien](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Linorien/pseuds/Linorien)!

Any and every mission could be Bond’s last, or so they had told themselves when they first came together. Tonight was to be their second night. It was also the night before Bond’s next mission, so Bond was surprised to learn that Q wasn’t waiting for him-- or at least, not in bed.  
\---

Q is a shadow in the faint orange glow of his tablet on night mode, one more gargoyle among the black shapes on the rooftop. The night sky is purple blue, clear, dark for a restless city. He turns his head as the door closes loudly, his spectacles flashing. Bond wants to be noticed tonight.

Q is sitting, tablet on one knee with the other leg in front of him, on something once plush enough to be a rug. The pile grinds into Bond’s shoes. 

“Ah good, you’re here,” says Q, tracking the mug in Bond’s hand until it is in his own.

“From Eve,” says Bond. “For the Taiwanese tea.” Q’s hands are shockingly cold against his as he takes his mug, though the night air is mild. The long trip up had cooled the liquid enough for Q to take a draught, make a noise of assent, and declare it acceptable. He sticks his nose in his mug again, careless of his misting lenses, and Bond quietly swallows away his adoration for his dangerous colleague. 

(That intimacy was reserved for the morning previous: quiet words, the sound of rain mingled with kisses, and soft hazel eyes half closed in pleasure. Until Q tasted the tea.)

“It’s even the right temperature this time,” Bond adds while Q takes another sip. “I checked.” Q glares over the rim of the mug, lowers it, and sets it well out of the other man’s reach. Bond smiles to himself and moves away to investigate the nearest abandoned desk chair. 

It is difficult for Bond to maintain this distance, not when he could have more than their banter, not when he could have the warmth of Q's breath on his ear as well as Q's voice. Although this may be their last night together, certainly for a while, it has also been a long day under the suspicious eyes of administration for both of them. Q has already called in all his favours to get his department back online, and for once Bond is reluctant to demand anything more than he might be cautiously granted.

Anyway, Bond knows he will get what he wants eventually.

 

Q has turned back to his tablet, but his gestures lack the precise grace Bond has admired thus far. Even from where Bond is sitting, it is evident that he is doing little more than tracing idle circles on the screen. Bond finds it hard to reconcile this idle boy with the sensual man from the previous night, let alone the focussed quartermaster of his acquaintance.

Q shifts, straightens his shoulders and draws breath as though to speak, but he sighs instead, lips pressed together. He does not look at Bond.

He’s nervous. Though their association is still new, Bond knows him well enough to be surprised at even this emotion from his normally placid demeanor. Bond, ever helpful, has learned enough to lance boils before they fester.

“It’s not exactly Van Gogh, is it?” Bond prods. Q looks at him, eyes wide. “The view, I mean.”

Q laughs and turns his face away bashfully, but his voice is strong when he replies. “Perhaps not,” he agreed, considering the murky lights on the river, the orange glow of the city beyond. “Perhaps something a little more modern.”

Q looks more at ease, and Bond relaxes. A single light blinks in the velvet sky, moving steadily: a plane. It sinks into the east, slowly fading. 

“It’s comforting,” Q muses, staring at the hazy darkness above, “to know that the stars wheel onward, even when they’re hidden from sight.” So this will be one of those nights, where Q wants Bond to know but is unwilling to say outright, but this time his voice is sweeter and softer, confidential. Though Bond can barely see his face, he hears his smile when Q says, “What do you see?”

The tablet screen turns off.

“Shit all,” Bond replies, and they chuckle. 

The dark does not hide him, least of all from Bond, but perhaps it may persuade other eyes to look away. Bond is not accustomed to following other peoples’ expectations. He is quite content to share this space, give back what he can to Q.

Q sinks back to lean on his hand, jostling his tablet awake. The bright white light washes over him as he lounges and looks at Bond: sharp, challenging, pleading, commanding. He tips his head invitingly to the space beside him. Bond can no more refuse than he could last night.

He obeys.

Stray eddies of cool night air tug at Bond, as though he were running. Even in the lee of Q’s shelter, his instincts are pricked by the open air and sounds of traffic far below. He settles in a crouch instead of lounging, and lets himself reach out and cup Q’s shoulder. Q leans into him, warm and insistent, so that his hand slides over the soft cardigan to Q’s shoulder-blade and Q’s eyes are glittering. Bond dares to steal a kiss. Q snares him, holds him until it’s returned (with interest), until the tablet turns off again, until Bond knows his cheek is bruised from the press of Q’s glasses. They stay close.

“Is there a particular star that comforts you?” Bond asks softly, though his knowledge of dark skies comes with dark memories. Under this familiar sky, it’s harder to drown in thirsty memories of salt or sand while the taste of Q’s mouth is wet on his tongue.

Q laughs breathlessly against Bond’s mouth and he realizes he’s forgotten himself, remembers he asked a question. He sighs and makes a casual show of putting a good foot and a half between them.

“Your singular focus is admirable.” Q’s voice hits that low, sleek tone he uses while committing wholeheartedly to what he knows are (Bond’s) terrible ideas. Sadly, Bond isn’t here to make out with his beautiful young quartermaster until sunrise.

Bond doesn’t need light to see that Q is still smirking at him, and he lets his silence speak for him. Q huffs. Their breaths fall in sync, but Q is drumming his fingers on the dark tablet. 

“There is a comet that I watch for,” he says finally. “I have no influence on it, nor does it on me, but I like predicting where it will be.”

He fiddles with the tablet until the faint orange glow of a star map appears. There is an overlay of the cityscape. A bright dot labelled ‘Venus’ hovers just under the visible horizon. Q scrolls a little and a pixie winged sprite tagged as a comet comes into view. Bond leans close again to see.

Q continues, “Planets are easy to track. They wander in predictable ways. Comets are a little harder. They aren’t always brightly lit. Sometimes you see only the debris they leave behind.” Q gives Bond a pointed look.

Bond grins. “Takes an astronomer to track a comet, then.”

Q hums a little. “Yes and no.” He smiles lopsidedly at Bond in return. “I personally have contacts to obtain the data, extensive resources to carry out the calculations, and the skill to make them come to fruition. Not necessarily an operation for an amateur.”

“And yet an amateur you must be, to be here.”

“An amateur has just as much love as and often more intimate knowledge than a professional.” Q taps Bond’s nose in consternation. “A professional can spend their whole life studying a star and still get lost on a star map.”

Bond catches Q’s hand and holds him. “I need a professional amateur,” he says seriously, though his eyes are soft.

Q bites back a laugh. “You have one,” he replies, eyes shining. He brings Bond’s hands to his mouth and presses onto them a solemn kiss. “I won’t lose track of you.”

The sky is lightening, shadows dissolving into blue and pink. The sun starts to peer between the dark spires and skyscrapers. An alarm goes off on Q’s tablet, which he flicks off.

Q's posture is stiff when he says, “I don’t actually like astronomy that much. Always untouchable. I can shout into the void and only hear my voice echoing.”

“You’ve shown me just how much you don’t like astronomy," Bond says flippantly.

Q purses his lips. Bond doesn't want to have this conversation, but he didn’t mean to make light of Q’s insecurity. He tries to ease Q through the best way he knows how.

Bond speaks lowly into Q’s ear, “What keeps the comet from wandering off?”

“And causing mayhem and destruction?” Q ripostes, still sharp.

Bond swallows before countering lightly, "And lost in cold and darkness.”

“Bond, this is not one of your better lines.”

“The sun, Q." Bond nuzzles Q's hair. "As long as I feel your pull, I'll always come back to you."

“My genius is indeed lustrous, but-- oh,” Q sighs as Bond kisses his ear, his neck. Bond feels Q melt again.

Bond runs his hands over Q’s arms and hands to lift the tablet from where it is cradled. He flips the cover over the tablet. Q opens his jacket so Bond can tuck it inside, in a pocket on his left side. He tugs Bond’s arms around him and settles against Bond’s shoulder again.

“So what do you have for me?” says Bond after a few minutes.

"Hmm?" says Q sleepily, but Bond suspects he is delaying the inevitable. As was Bond, but the work is imminent and it's time to get the job done.

"Gun? Phone?" He smirks, "Pen?" and earns a wrinkle of Q's nose.

Q makes a show of extracting himself from Bond's arms and rummaging around to find the equipment. "Your usual," he says, handing over the gun and radio. "And," he adds, handing over something new, "for guidance in dark times. This has a built in torch, internet that piggy backs onto our secure satellites, and has a wide spectrum camera, which sees what is invisible to you." It appears to be a smartphone.

"And I have you," Bond says, and Q smiles again. Golden sunlight spills over the rooftop as they seal their vows.

Eventually, Q levers himself up to stand, and Bond mirrors him.

“Well,” Q says, looking away and fiddling with his jacket. “Do be careful. With my.” He gestures vaguely to Bond.

“Yes, Q,” Bond says fondly. 

A breeze tugs at them, shocking against the dew that was starting to soak Bond’s shirt. Q hunches into his jacket and peers hopefully at Bond. A last embrace, Q asks, and Bond grants it. Afterward, his lips are cold in the early morning air, but he is warm.

Q checks his tablet, drawing back into his placid self. “Your flight leaves in half an hour,” he says, voice calm again. “We’d best be moving along then.” 

At once Bond feels the familiar rush and restlessness, poised to hurl himself forward once more, but now there was a greater gravity. To Q, watching him with bright eyes still, he feels the same vertigo that makes his heart pound: alive, alive, alive. He only has to let Q pull him close, and he would fly.

Bond holds out his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic got me through the last six or so months, hence its sweetness. It's fermented now. If anyone has ideas for the other allegories Q has come up with to troll Bond, please write them! :D  
>   
> Thematic playlist the old school way is [here](http://studies-in-decadence.tumblr.com/post/120035509661/not-all-those-who-wander-are-lost-voculae).  
> Feel free to remix this or any of my other works (with attribution) and drop a link back to me (voculae on tumblr).


End file.
